The Man in the Rorschach Shirt
by HYPERFocused
Summary: The fabric of our lives. A Ray Bradbury challenge fic to keep you cozy on a cold night. light slash


Disclaimer: I don't own Clark, or Lex, or even Jonathan or Martha. I don't even own a scrap of their discarded wardrobe. What do I see in the ink-blots? Spaceships and Ty-Nant bottles, and pretty boys in love. Vague spoiler for Hug.  
  
***  
  
Martha Kent is sitting at her kitchen table, piecing squares for a patchwork quilt, and watching out the window as her sixteen year old son waits for his lover. He hadn't admitted it yet, but she *knows* that look. Eager and impatient, Clark paces, kicking at the dirt. He leaves what look like mole holes all along the path. She remembers waiting for Jonathan, on the Met U library steps, feeling just as quivery and excited as Clark seems to be.  
  
She knows she should be more bothered at the thought of her boy in such a serious relationship, but Jonathan is worried enough for the both of them. She's glad he's not there to watch as Lex gracefully swings out of his car, and into her son's arms. Martha thinks Clark needs her support more than her prejudice and fear. At times like this, she's grateful for her Metropolis upbringing. Sometimes Jonathan's attitude puts the "small" in Smallville.   
  
Despite her acceptance of her son's choice (yes, she knows love isn't a conscious decision), she's a little bit scared for him. It's a very familiar feeling. She really would like to tell Clark to slow down, that he'll never get his innocence back once it's gone. But she knows he isn't likely to listen. Kent men in love have much in common, despite the obvious differences between their loved ones in question. Neither one of her men was blessed with the gift of patience. Luckily, she's got enough for all of them.   
  
She wasn't the fastest quilter, in fact, she'd been preparing for this particular quilt for over a decade -- ever since Clark ripped his first flannel shirt -- a red and black buffalo plaid. He'd caught it on a steel bolt, when he jumped off the top of the jungle-gym at the Y's day-camp. She'll never forget the fear she felt, when she saw that, imagining him bleeding, fearing the worst. Then he got up and laughed, saying "again, again!"  
  
He hadn't a scratch on him. The bolt was shattered. The counselors were perplexed, but chalked it up metal exhaustion, and damn good luck. That hadn't stopped the Kents from demanding the playground be brought up to code, nor from them taking Clark home. There would be no more camp for their strange and wonderful son, at least until he learned control and concealment.  
  
That was before they knew all the ways he was special. Their experience as new adoptive parents was far outside the realm of "normal". No, they hadn't had the joy of watching their baby kick against her belly, or scrunch his tiny face, gripping his father's strong finger with his exquisite little digits. But none of that mattered. Clark was meant to be theirs. *Sent* to be theirs, even.  
  
Martha fingers a white T-shirt with "MET U / (heart) U" on it, worn to near transparency. Whenever she uses it to dust the curio cabinet, she remembers how Jonathan loved it when she wore just that for him. So thin, Jonathan could see all of her form through it; he found it more arousing than the satin she'd been told all men preferred. He was never really into lingerie. Give him soft, brushed cotton that just skimmed her thighs, and he was hers. It was a simplicity she'd always found endearing.  
  
Her rag bag is full of memories, both pain and pleasure.   
  
Clark's clothing tells what his body can't. Too many shirts with scorch marks, bullet holes and knife slashes -- ruined even for patchwork. He superspeeds past her on those nights, knowing she'll never get used to seeing evidence he could have been killed, even though she knows he's never even been badly hurt. She hates that it's become such a common occurrence. That last round came from Lex's gun. She can't quite forgive him for hurting her boy, even if he wasn't himself at the time -- and Clark begs her not to tell him. She wonders when he will hurt Clark when he *is* himself, and if her boy will recover. She prays that Clark's psychic wounds are as rare as his physical ones, but knows that's not likely to be true. He's not meant to live an easy life. Nor is Lex, she suspects. She hopes their individual strengths will serve to help each other.   
  
Martha imagines her son -- and the man she knows he loves -- sleeping under a quilt made of their shared past. The quilt will tell them it takes careful stitching to piece together a relationship, and less than a seam ripper to unravel it. Flannel and silk, chambray and linen. Goose down and cotton batting, all combined to tell the story of Clark's life, and to give a measure of protection. The pattern is unplanned, but beautiful. She's going to ask Lex if he has any old clothing to spare for the cause. She thinks Lex and Clark are like silk and flannel themselves. Cool strength, and warm comfort. Perfectly natural. 


End file.
